


This Isn't Control

by secondstar



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, BDSM, Barebacking, Biting, Blogging, Dom/sub, M/M, Marking, Power Imbalance, Sex Toys, Teacher/Student
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-05
Updated: 2014-02-05
Packaged: 2018-01-11 05:35:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1169302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secondstar/pseuds/secondstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles ends up taking  a 'Sex, Sexuality, and Society' class  with one of his favorite teachers and discovers that his thesis for his term paper means more to him than just the grade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Isn't Control

**Author's Note:**

> * if you see something that you think should be tagged, please let me know. 
> 
> *written for the sterek campaign auction for minxxxx
> 
> *beta'd by bk, lauren, mel, and beth.
> 
> date: please do not REPOST this fic anywhere else without my consent. Please do not put it on GoodReads that is a site for PUBLISHED works, not fic.

Tuesdays were Stiles’ favorite. It wasn’t because on Tuesdays the coffee shop had banana muffins or the fact that he got to sleep in a full extra hour later than he did on Mondays or Wednesdays. No, it wasn’t because of those things, even if they were pretty awesome by themselves. Stiles loved Tuesdays because of his Sex, Sexuality, and Society class. Not only was the class itself engaging and interesting, but his professor was the hottest human being to ever grace the planet.

Well, he was hot if you liked tall, dark, scruffy, learned men whose email signature ended with a quote that changed weekly. Stiles would be lying if he told anyone he hadn’t spent many a long dorm shower thinking about him. Somehow, Stiles managed to survive one semester with Professor Hale already, when he took a seminar on The Great War. When he signed up for the spring semester, he definitely took note on which professors were teaching what course. He had the choice between Sex, or Worlds After Wars with Professor Hale. He would have chosen Worlds After Wars, if it hadn’t intersected with another core course that he needed to take if he didn’t want to spend an extra semester in undergrad.

The Asshole, as Stiles called Professor Hale in his mind, wore glasses with the new semester. When Stiles first walked into the lecture hall that first Tuesday, he just about walked right back out again. Taking a second course had been a mistake, he regretted his decision immediately. He wound up recording the entire two-hour lecture on his phone because he knew he wouldn’t be able to pay attention.

There was a flaw in his plan because having a recorded copy of his professor’s voice, along with Garage Band on his Mac, meant that he could manipulate his wording, pinpoint certain sounds, like sighing. Stiles didn’t mess around with it but the one time, because afterward he felt like it was too invasive, listening back on it. That didn’t mean he hadn’t jacked off to it before he deleted it, though. His willpower wasn’t that strong.

As with almost all Stiles’ courses, they had term papers. Term papers were the devil in Stiles’ mind; except for Professor Hale’s. For that class, Stiles got to pick a topic, any topic, that had to do with sex and society. Stiles toiled over his subject matter for the two weeks before they were to submit their thesis statements.

Earlier in the semester, they had to write a shorter ten-page paper, to which Stiles wrote about age of consent in antiquity, and how it was more of a modern way of thinking. He got an _A_ on the paper, which was surprising based on the fact that he had barely scraped by the semester before with a _B_. Professor Hale wasn't known for being a lenient grader, but Stiles hadn't been about to question the obvious fluke in his grade.

With the thesis statement due the previous Tuesday, Stiles had all but forgotten about it, since during the lecture's Thursday slot there was usually a guest speaker. Stiles thought it kept things fresher, having different people come in and talk about things like the regulation of sexual desires in the past, or erotic literature and art.

Tuesdays were usually the best part of Stiles' week, usually being the key word. It wasn't until everyone was seated and Professor Hale sat against his desk, his legs crossed in a way that was obscene due to the images that flashed through Stiles' mind, that Stiles realized what he was holding in his hands: their thesis statements.

"I'm going to hand these back to you with my suggestions before you start work on your term papers," he said, flipping his finger through the stack as he looked around the silent room. "Most were well thought out, brilliantly put together, but some-" Stiles swore that he looked straight at him. "Still need some work."

Stiles' mouth twitched nervously as he tapped his pen against his notebook. Professor Hale handed them back in alphabetical order, like he always did. Stiles assumed he always alphabetized his things, but he couldn't be sure considering he had nothing else to base the hypothesis on. His was nearer to the end of the stack. He held his breath as the slip of paper was put down on his desk face down, Professor Hale's hand stilling for a second before continuing on. Stiles didn't look up as he passed by, didn't stare at his ass, and most certainly did not breathe in deep enough so he could catch the smallest hint of a scent from him.

He didn't want to flip it over, didn't want to see what would be written in red ink. Around him there was chatter, but Stiles heard none of it as he flipped the page over. His eyes cast over it, searching but found nothing written until the end where in neat, all capital letters, Professor Hale wrote: 'PLEASE SEE ME DURING OFFICE HOURS.'

Stiles slunk down in his seat, his fingers raking through his hair. That couldn't be good, not at all. There should be red that marked through it, telling him to start over, that it was inappropriate, or that in all unlikelihood, that it was a mediocre thesis statement. But no, all Stiles got was the ever cliffhanger of death: please see me.

He wanted to die.

Overdramatizing aside, Stiles didn't pay attention the rest of the lecture on autoeroticism. It wasn't like he didn't have enough first hand knowledge of that. The lecture dragged by in an agonizing way that Stiles hadn't felt in regard to a history course since his 10th grade U.S. History class where his teacher wheezed when he talked.

As Professor Hale dismissed them, Stiles thought he was home free. He gathered his things, stuffing them unceremoniously into his backpack before making a mad dash to the door.

"Mr. Stilinski, if you have a moment," Professor Hale called out as he, too, packed his things. Stiles thought about making a run for it, but knew he had to see what his professor wanted. Stiles avoided eye contact as he walked forward. Professor Hale's eyes were a mixture between blue and green, changing depending on what he was wearing. Stiles didn't want to see what color they were then, with his blue collared shirt and brown vest. He didn't want to know how blue they looked.

"Mr. Stilinski."

Stiles looked up at his professor, sucking in a breath of air for the beratement that was sure to come for picking such a topic for a term paper.

"I saw you panicking," he said, giving Stiles an empathetic look as the last remnants of Stiles' classmates filed out of the lecture hall. "I want you to know that you aren't in trouble. You look like you're about to have a heart attack."

Stiles let out a small laugh as he covered his mouth with his hand, the tension leaving him for the time being.

"I'm not?"

"No," Professor Hale said with a smile, showing teeth and laugh lines to Stiles from underneath his glasses. "I wanted to discuss the direction you wanted to go in with your term paper before you started it, in private."

"Oh," Stiles said relieved, shifting his backpack as he raked his teeth across his bottom lip. "I didn't even think- I thought you'd just right out like it or tell me to find another topic."

"I think it's a good topic for you," he told Stiles, which made his cheeks redden. "Come by during my office hours and we can discuss it more," Professor Hale told him as he shouldered his own bag, grabbing his jacket as well.

"I can do that," Stiles said as they both walked out of the room together. He gave Stiles another smile before turning the opposite direction that Stiles was headed.

Once Stiles got to his dorm, he threw his things down into a pile then started stripping. His roommate had a lab until three, giving him an hour alone before he would be interrupted. He practically fell as he tried stepping out of his jeans the same time he took his shoes off, but caught himself on his unmade bed. Once the offending jeans were off, he rolled onto his bed, scooting up it until his head hit the pillow, his legs spread leisurely as he stared up at the ceiling.

He palmed himself with one hand as the other spread across his stomach, fingers sliding across the line of hair leading down to the patch surrounding his hardening cock. He thought about Professor Hale, Derek, the Asshole, about how he smiled, about the color of his eyes and how he wanted to talk to Stiles, privately.

As Stiles started stroking his cock, his thumb teasing across the head, he thought about their private meeting. The vision before him was of Derek sitting in his desk chair, his legs spread, pants pushed down his thighs enough that his dick hung out, huge and hard. Stiles imagined how he would kneel before him, have his mouth on him. The image shifted, skipping to Stiles being bent over the desk, papers strewn across the office, flying into the air as Derek fucked him, pressed his face down against it.

It didn't take long for Stiles to come, his chest heaving, fingers sticky.

He was so fucked, and not in the fun way.

Stiles waited until after dinner at the dining hall with his friends before he sent the email to Professor Hale about his office hours. They were listed on the Berkeley website, under his profile.

Derek Hale  
Associate Professor  
Late Modern Europe  
2311 Dwienelle  
Office Hours: MW 1-3, TTH- 10-12  
dhale@berkeley.edu

It listed where he got his undergrad and his masters, along with all of the articles he contributed to or wrote himself. The list was extensive, considering how young he was, just under thirty as far as Stiles could tell. He couldn't be sure, though, but considering he didn't have his doctorate, he assumed younger than thirty.

Stiles grunted to himself when he imagined Derek with graying hair, his laugh lines more pronounced, beard salt and peppered from age. He shook his head in order to get out of his daydream in order to write the email.

To: dhale@berkeley.edu  
From: pgs1030@berkeley.edu  
Subject: Office Hours

_Professor,  
I wanted to make an appointment with you re: my term paper. I checked your office hours, but I have classes during all of your allotted times. Is there a time other than your specified hours that you would be willing to meet with me?_

_Stiles Stilinski_

Stiles tapped absentmindedly after he hit send, refreshing a few times before walking away from his computer to play Skyrim. When he checked it a few hours later, there was a response from ten minutes after he had sent it.

To: pgs1030@berkeley.edu  
From: dhale@berkeley.edu  
Subject: Re: Office Hours

_Stiles,  
I can meet with you when your schedule permits. My only other class is MW 11-1. _

_sent from Derek's iPhone._

Stiles smiled to himself when he thought about how Professor Hale had used his phone to respond instead of waiting to be back at his computer. He thought about waiting until the morning to respond, but caved quickly.

To: dhale@berkeley.edu  
From: pgs1030@berkeley.edu  
Subject: Re: Re: Office Hours

_I am free tomorrow at 3:30 if that is okay?_

_Stiles_

It was a simple email, but it left Stiles feeling giddy nonetheless. He knew his jerk off fantasy wasn't something that would actually happen, but that didn't stop his mind from wandering back there. Within minutes, there was a response -- the time was set for 3:30. Suddenly, Stiles liked his Wednesday just as much as he did Tuesday.

Stiles showered in the morning, every morning. He couldn't fully wake up without not only cleaning up, but jerking off. He maintained that it was healthy to masturbate. If anything, Professor Hale's class solidified that notion in his mind. So what if his fantasies were based on his professor? It was harmless, nothing would come if it, he knew that there were lines drawn. Hell, he didn't even know which way Derek swung, if he even straddled the line or not, like Stiles did. Fantasies were just that: fantasy.

The day dragged on for Stiles. He had three classes, loaded for the day with a late lab after his meeting with Professor Hale. He always had to grab a quick lunch on his Mondays and Wednesdays, mostly consisting of a coffee and a cookie from the coffee shop due to lack of time or energy to get through the day.

By the time 3:30 came around, Stiles found himself running to the Dwienelle building. It was the same building that he had his Sex, Sexuality, and Society class in, but Professor Hale's office was on the floor above the lecture hall. He tried to catch his breath before he walked down the narrow hall that led to the history department's offices. With his eyes on the door numbers, Stiles walked down the hall with his hand on his side. He hadn't wanted to be late for their meeting, and it was already two minutes past. The last thing he wanted was for Professor Hale to be mad at him for being tardy to the meeting he had placed.

Stiles almost walked right past the door, which was open. Professor Hale was seated at his desk, his attention on his computer and not on Stiles who had to back up so he could walk into the room. Awkwardly, Stiles knocked on the door with one knuckle. When Professor Hale looked up at him, Stiles gulped.

"You didn't need to rush," he told Stiles as he waved Stiles in. Stiles wondered how red his face was from running, since it had to be obvious that he rushed in order to get there. "Close the door, have a seat." Stiles did what Professor Hale asked without comment, dropping his backpack to the floor beside the chair in front of the desk.

"Sorry I'm late," Stiles said as he took a few deep breaths.

"Don't worry about it," he said, closing his laptop in order to give Stiles his undivided attention. "You told me your day was packed, I'm glad you found time for me."

"I'll always find time for you," Stiles blurted out, but regretted it due to the embarrassed smile that crept across Professor Hale's face as he adjusted his glasses.

"Good to know, Stiles," he said easily. "Now, do you have your statement with you?" Stiles dug the slip of paper out of his bag, then handed it to Professor Hale. He read over it, silently, as Stiles waited, his lip caught between his teeth. "This is a very interesting topic," he told Stiles. "Do you think you'll manage to find the research necessary?” Stiles cleared his throat before he answered, shifting awkwardly in his seat.

“I think so, sir,” Stiles said as he wrung his fingers in his lap. “There are articles-”

“Only internet-based?” Stiles bit the inside of his cheek because everything he found had been online. He doubted there would be many hard copy articles on BDSM laying around in a magazine, let alone about his paper.

“From what I already found, most of my resources would be internet-based,” Stiles said with a gulp. “I don’t- If you don’t think that will be enough I can think of something else to write about.”

“I think you should branch out,” he told Stiles simply, his fingers tapping out a rhythm against the slip of paper. “I would talk with couples, people in BDSM relationships about what they do, interview them; use real sources.”

“Huh,” Stiles said, his eyes on his professors fingers. “I didn’t think of that.” He looked up just in time to see the corner of Professor Hale’s mouth turn upward. “Yeah, I can... look online for people. I have a few blogs bookmarked--” Stiles stopped dead in the middle of his sentence, his face reddening. He didn’t need his professor to know what sorts of sites he bookmarked. “Due to research,” Stiles added in.

“If you need help, my door’s always open,” Professor Hale said. “Just shoot me an email beforehand, since you have classes during all my office hours.”

“Sure,” Stiles said, confused. Last semester Professor Hale hadn’t been this open, supportive. If anything, he seemed closed off and uncaring, albeit it was in a really hot way. Now, though, all Stiles could see was a softness behind his normal demeanor.

“Here’s this back,” he said as he stood, handing Stiles his thesis statement. “If you have trouble finding someone to interview, let me know.”

“I will,” Stiles said before gathering his things.

It wasn’t until he got back to his dorm after his lab that he realized what Derek had been implying: that he knew people that Stiles could interview for his term paper. Stiles knew he was in deep when he booted up his computer and began to research BDSM blogs, mostly ones in the greater Berkeley area. He found one of a Domme in San Francisco whose blog was all pictures of girls in heels with whips, their subs on their knees before them.

Objectively, Stiles liked the pictures, he found them interesting, along with her actual blog entries. He didn’t contact her, though, but he did bookmark her page in case he didn’t find someone else to speak with.

The next blog he found was a Sub somewhere in California, undisclosed, whose picture was them in their collar. Stiles put his hand up to his neck, his fingers sliding across his bare skin. He didn’t think that was what he was looking for, really, but decided to read on anyway.

He scanned a couple of their posts, his eyes catching on words such as ‘baby batter’, ‘boy pussy,’ and ‘good boy’. He exed out of the page after that, deciding that daddy kink just wasn’t his thing, and wasn’t really what his term paper was going to be about.

His thesis statement was as follows:

_When David Stein coined “safe, sane, and consensual” in the early 1980’s, he not only came up with a way to distinguish certain relationships and activities from abusive behavior linked with the term “sadomasochism,” he also created a shibboleth that identifies a community._

He wanted to keep on task as much as possible with it, since BDSM was such a general term for the practice at large. Stiles ended up scanning around ten more blogs before he came across a Dom whose blog mostly consisted of artful pictures of himself where his face was obscured from view. Stiles, transfixed by the pictures, scrolled until there was nothing left to see. There were pictures of him clothed, rolling up his collared shirt sleeves, another where his hands were on his belt as he were taking it off.

Every picture was subtle but had the hint behind it that he was in control. Stiles saved a few of them, like the one of him completely naked, his thumb pressing against the head of his cock, precome dripping down the slit. The shot was taken in a way that Stiles could see that he had been wearing a cock ring at the time, his hairy legs and happy trail had Stiles wanting more. There weren’t many not safe for work pictures of the Dom, but the few that were there left an impression.

As he climbed into bed that night, his mind filled with images, thoughts about the Dom, whose name on his site had been a simple ‘Mister’, along with Derek. He smushed them together in his mind, Mister and Derek. It made him flush in bed, thinking about Derek as a Dom. Stiles palmed at himself as he grimaced. His roommate and best friend, Scott, was in bed not five feet away from him. He couldn’t jack off with Scott in the room, not when Scott was such a light sleeper. Stiles willed himself not to get hard, despite his body’s protests. He ended up rolling onto his stomach with his hands shoved up underneath his pillow, eventually passing out.

He woke up to come-stained sheets.

“Fuck my life,” Stiles hissed as he peeled off his sticky clothes. “Jesus Christ.”

“Must have been some dream, dude,” Scott said from his own bed. Stiles glared at him as he grabbed a pair of boxers from his pile of dirty clothes to wear into the bathroom down the hall for his shower. He wasn’t going to waste a clean pair for that shit. He stripped his bed down, then shoved them down into his hamper.

For once he didn’t jack off in the shower, despite how his mind kept going back to one thing: Mister. He took a quick shower, putting on fresh clothes afterward. When Stiles got back to his dorm room he went back to the blog, his eyes widening when he saw that there was a new picture. It was posted that morning, at seven, two hours prior. There was a mug of coffee, steam clearly coming off of it, in Mister’s hands. The shot was taken from the side, his bare chest barely visible due to his arms being in the way, but there was a clear indication of just how unshaven he was, along with a sign of stubble just before the picture cut off revealing his face.

Stiles knew from the captions that Mister owned a tripod, that he took all of his own pictures. If someone else took them, he gave them credit. It had been over a year since anyone else’s name showed up in the credits. When Stiles stopped at the coffee shop before class, all he could think about was Mister’s biceps, about the steam coming off of his coffee mug.

By the time Stiles made it to his second lecture of the day, he forgot all about Mister and his coffee mug. Well, until he walked into the class, expecting their usual Thursday guest speaker only to find Professor Hale standing by his desk with a mug in his hand.

The same mug from Mister’s photo.

Stiles stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes landing on the mug.

He caught Professor Hale’s gaze as he made his way into a seat, the professor’s eyebrows arching questionably as Stiles got his things out. He hadn’t been expecting Professor Hale, or the mug. Stiles chalked it up to nothing more than a coincidence, people had the same mugs, it wasn’t like they weren’t mass produced products.

Still, he couldn’t take his eyes off the mug for the entire class. By how the week had been going, Stiles was pretty damn sure he was going to fail out of school because of his lack of paying attention in his classes.

The first thing he did when he got back to his dorm after the rest of his classes was go back to Mister’s website. There hadn’t been another update, but Stiles knew better. He looked at the blog, he knew Mister’s updating habits. Once or twice a week, tops. The picture from that morning was still there, enticing Stiles to grab himself, rub his hand over his jeans idly as he scrolled down and down, his eyes memorizing the pictures. Out of habit, he scrolled up to the top and hit refresh.

His breath caught in his throat as he saw a new post.

It was a video, the player black with a white play button taunting Stiles to press it. He did without hesitation. As the video started up, he felt his cock throb as it hardened between his legs. Mister was an expert when it came to hiding his identity. With the camera angled down, the video cut off just below his chin, showing his bare chest and his fingers as he typed. It was a webcam video, and Mister was at his desk. Stiles waited as the video buffered. It was paused with Mister’s hand on his own chest.

Stiles knew what the video was going to be of, and he had to prepare himself. He felt giddy as he took his own shirt off, then shoved his jeans down his thighs, he kept his underwear on, though, because he liked the feel of his erection against the fabric as he ran his fingers over it. When the video buffered enough that it wouldn’t pause in the middle and ruin the mood he pressed play.

The first thing he heard was a laugh. It was short, light, but it was definitely there. Next was a sigh as Mister adjusted the camera to point down more, his erection coming into view. Stiles leaned in closer to his computer reflexively, wanting to get a better view of him as he stroked himself slowly through the fabric of his boxer briefs.

His cock was uncut, heavy as it hung down between his legs. Stiles licked his lips as he imagined his mouth around it, his tongue playing with the extra skin at the tip. He thought of the taste of it as he watched Mister take his erection into his hand and stroke it, revealing his head. Stiles whimpered to himself as he leaned back in his chair and shoved his hand down, getting skin on skin contact with his own cock.

“You’re jacking off, aren’t you?” Mister’s voice asked through the video. Stiles stilled for a moment, his jaw dropping. Mister’s voice was barely above a whisper and held a hint of amusement, along with a type of authority that made his balls tighten. Mister let out a low moan then shifted in his seat. Stiles didn’t move his hand until Mister talked again a second later. “Go ahead, you’re allowed to.” Stiles did go ahead, actually. Hearing that Mister gave him permission added another layer to his normal jerk off session. He would be saving this video when it was finished, storing it in the depths of his computer with the rest of his porn in a new folder.

Stiles wasn’t taking his time, because he saw exactly how long he had with Mister: only a few short minutes.

“That’s it,” Mister said as he jacked himself off. He was going slow, his grip tight on himself, his index finger and thumb making a ring as he concentrated on just the head of his cock. “I want you to stop now. Eyes on me.”

Stiles stopped. With his blood pounding in his ears, breath stilled, he sat there staring at Mister as he spread his legs farther, showing his low hanging balls as his cock moved along with each stroke. Stiles bit down on his lip as he felt his willpower fading. He wanted to jack off, to come to the video. He saw how little time there was left, his heart rate jackrabbiting as the countdown began.

“Now,” Mister said with thirty seconds left on the video. Stiles’ first stroke downward had his climax come out of no where. As he came in his own hand he looked up at the screen to see Mister’s own mess in his hand. Right before the video cut out there was a sigh and then he said, “Good.”

Stiles sat there in awe.

He had never experienced anything like it before. He wanted more, needed it. He clicked Mister’s page about contacting him. There was an email address. Before he continued, Stiles washed his hands and pulled his boxer briefs back on. He had to think about how to approach Mister.

It wouldn’t be about his term paper, Stiles decided. He didn’t just have questions, he had needs. He felt like he needed something more to his life, and that Mister could help him with those needs. Even though he just came, when Stiles saw Mister’s email address he felt his cock twitch. First thing was first: Stiles couldn’t use his real email address. He had to make a dummy one first. He looked around his room in an attempt to think of some name to use, or something random that wouldn’t already be taken. He thought about the blogs he had been on, about Mister’s blog and all the research he had done. Stiles made it quickly, not thinking about how if he ever said it out loud he’d probably turn red out of embarrassment.

He took a deep breath, deciding to go for it. He didn’t know Mister, and Mister didn’t know him. There was no harm in asking questions, of which he had many. He spent time reading the BDSM basics, going through forums and the like well before his thesis statement. Some things, though, wouldn’t be in a FAQ or simple ‘how to’.

To: serveandbeserved@gmail.com  
From: makemebeg@gmail.com  
Subject: Sir

_Mister,_

Stiles was stuck. He didn’t know what to say or how to get Mister’s attention enough that he would respond. Stiles worried about his wording, not wanting to sound too self-deprecating as he typed out an email asking about trust, about how he could trust someone enough with such a secret part of him. Stiles wrote about how he felt like he was drowning, that he wasn’t really himself, but how he felt out of his depths and alone. It came out as word vomit as he typed, about his mouth and how often he talked back and his worries about not being good enough. He asked for advice about how to get up the courage to be in a scene, about finding a Dom.

When he was done, after he hit send, he realized how vulnerable he felt about the whole thing. He felt drained, unsure if Mister would respond. Stiles did his laundry, his dirty sheets smelling from his wet dream. He took a book with him down to the laundry room, leaving behind his computer in order to distance himself from his thoughts about the email.

He ended up calling his dad as he waited between the loads. It felt good, having a normal conversation about small-town news, about Jeep oil changes, and his father’s lack of a proper diet plan. Stiles managed to get a few chapters read in his book by the time he got back to his room with clean sheets.

After making his bed, he crawled into it, the sheets still warm from the dryer. He looked over at his desk where his computer sat open, his eyes narrowed at it as he contemplated not checking his email compulsively until Mister answered it.

He played Skyrim instead, his eyes darting every so often to his computer screen. He only checked three times, which was about twenty less than he would have had he not been busy killing things and talking to Kajits. Stiles paused his game when he saw an email come up out of the corner of his eye. There it was, the sole email in the inbox from Mister himself.

Stiles just about fell getting to his computer. He clicked open as he sat in his bed, pulling his laptop into his lap as he quickly read through the extensive email. ‘You should always feel safe’, it said at one point. ‘Finding someone to trust is the hardest part, in a way’, made Stiles stomach do flips. ‘I’m happy to answer any and all questions you have as a young Sub.’

The email was just what Stiles needed to hear, like ‘some Doms love a mouth on their Sub, cheek doesn’t mean disrespect or insubordination. Banter is important in a relationship. BDSM isn’t about dictatorship, it is about give and take, about complete trust and the wants of both parties.’ Stiles bit his lip at the end, because the response had been more than he thought he would get.

Stiles thought long and hard about adding ‘serveandbeserved’ to his contacts, but he did it. He asked if they wanted to chat. He was positive it would be denied, or that Mister had already signed off for the night. Stiles grinned when suddenly there was a green dot next to Mister’s email on the side of his Gmail account, meaning he was online.

He hesitated, though, with actually starting a chat with him.

It would be weird if he just started talking, verging on stalking perhaps, or just creepy. Stiles hovered over Mister's name, but didn't click. He about jumped out of his chair when a chat screen popped up in the corner of his email.

 **Mister:** You there?

Stiles sat up straight in his chair as his fingers hovered over keys, his wrists resting across his laptop.

 **Me:** I’m here.  
 **Mister:** Good, thought I scared you off.  
 **Me:** Definitely not! Wasn’t sure how to start talking to you.  
 **Mister:** I’m glad you emailed me.

Stiles grinned to himself as he chatted with Mister. He didn’t ask about being a Sub, and Mister didn’t talk about BDSM at all. They chatted, small talk that anyone would talk about. They talked about Mister’s two dogs, about how Stiles didn’t care for the beach, and how many miles a day Mister ran. He hadn’t realized just how long they chatted until Scott walked in at quarter to one from his girlfriend’s dorm.

“Dude, you’re usually in bed,” Scott said.

“Shit,” Stiles said, his eyes wide. “I didn’t realize how late it was.” He didn’t want to say goodnight to Mister, but he knew if he stayed up any later he would regret it.

 **Me:** I’ve got to head out.  
 **Mister:** Same. My alarm goes off too early to stay up this late. Until next time.

Stiles only had half of his normal Monday and Wednesday classes on Friday, which he was grateful for. He was done by lunchtime and met Scott and his girlfriend Allison at the dining hall. They talked about playing extreme frisbee for a while, since it was so nice out. All Stiles wanted to do was go back on his computer and log on to talk to Mister, but it was the middle of the day, he knew he would most likely not be online. So he played frisbee, then napped in the sun surrounded by his friends who took advantage of the nice weather.

Once he was back in his dorm, though, he went online, then began searching for other blogs. He needed to get interviews for his paper. He stumbled across a couple that were interesting. After sending them a short email, stating his intentions and some questions he had, he went back to the Domme's page. He wasn't sure about her yet, but he spent time going through her archive again.

That night, after going out with his friends for dinner off-campus, he got online. Mister was on. Stiles didn't want to bombard him, but he couldn't hold back his excitement at seeing him online, so he IM'ed him.

 **Me:** hello!  
 **Mister:** hey there :)

Stiles would be lying to himself if he thought that the smiley face had no effect on him whatsoever. His mouth twitched as he began typing out a response. Mister, apparently, was in for the evening after dinner with his sister. Stiles told him about dinner out with friends, how eating off campus was a luxury. Mister didn't seem surprised that Stiles was in college, but did ask where he went. After Stiles said Berkeley, Mister was quiet for a moment.

 **Mister:** I live near that area. **  
 **Me:**** Really? Like in the city?

Stiles bit his lip, because nowhere on Mister's blog did it say where he lived. He assumed it was somewhere else, far away where they couldn't meet up.

 **********Mister:** ******** No, closer than that.  
 ** ** ** ****Me:** ******** Oakland? ** ** ** **  
 **Mister:** ******** Closer ;) ** ** ** **  
 **Me:****** **** do you actually live IN Berkeley?

By Mister's non-answer, Stiles' stomach dropped. It was okay if Mister didn't want to meet. They had just started to talk and they hadn't even brought up the entire reason of them chatting: that Stiles was looking for a Dom. After ten minutes of silence, Stiles was just about to log off and play Skyrim until it was time to go out. He had plans with Scott and their friends to go to a party. They weren’t leaving for another few hours, though.

 **********Mister:********** Sorry about that, dogs needed to go out. I do live in Berkeley. It’s a small world. ** ** ** **  
 **Me:** ******** I can’t believe you’re so close!

They talked until Stiles had to leave. As he signed off he couldn’t help but be excited. They talked about meeting. It had been Mister’s idea to meet for coffee, to chat in person and get to know each other that way, since they were so close to each other. Stiles couldn’t say yes fast enough. They decided on the coffee shop closest to campus, one that Stiles frequented all the time. It made him think about how many times he could have passed by Mister and not even realized it.

At the party, Stiles buzzed with energy. He drank, he mingled, he felt more like himself than he had in he didn’t know how long. With meeting Mister on the horizon, he felt himself relax. He wasn’t nervous, not really. Meeting Mister seemed like the right thing after their chats, even if it had only been two days. He knew Mister’s dog’s names, Sally and Jack, knew that his hobby was cooking, that he avidly watched the History Channel. Stiles told Mister things about himself too, that not many people knew.

So when Stiles fell into bed early that morning after drinking for hours it didn’t take him long to fall asleep. When he woke up, the taste of stale beer lingered on his breath while he was tangled in yesterday’s clothes. He showered, then checked his phone. He hadn’t set an alarm the night before, and didn’t realize how late he had slept.

He was supposed to meet Mister in less than an hour and it was across campus. Stiles dressed quickly, then ran out the door. He made it to the coffee shop a few minutes before they were due to meet, long enough for him to catch his breath and grab a seat. A couch was free, miraculously, so he claimed it as his. Stiles picked at his hoodie, his eyes narrowing at his own choice of wardrobe to meet Mister in. He looked like a college bum with his faded hoodie, khakis, and Tom’s. He groaned as he ran his fingers through his still damp hair. He should have set an alarm, done more laundry, something that would save him from looking like an idiot.

Stiles told Mister he was going to wear red, which he was. Mister, too, promised that he would be in red. As the time approached, he searched the coffee shop for Mister. No one else was in red that he could see, except for a girl at a table who was clearly studying, and also clearly not Mister. Stiles slumped down in the couch as the time passed.

Not giving up, Stiles pulled out his phone and started playing a game. When the bell above the door rang the next time, Stiles looked up to find Professor Hale looking around the coffee shop. Stiles, his eyes wide, hid his face behind his phone in hopes that his professor wouldn’t see him. He didn’t want him to be there when he met Mister, it would be weird. Stiles gnawed at his bottom lip absently as he played Candy Crush, avoiding his professor’s gaze.

“Stiles?” Professor Hale asked. Stiles put his phone down and looked up at him. He had his messenger bag with him, was wearing a pair of well worn jeans, along with a-

Red shirt.

Stiles’ jaw dropped, along with his phone. Stiles held his breath as he bent over to pick it up. Professor Hale wasn’t wearing his glasses, and his hair seemed slept-in, less put together than it did in class. Stiles wanted to run his fingers through it. He licked his lips as he stood up, shoving his hands into his back pocket. He looked to his shirt once more, his face in a grimace.

“Mister?” Stiles asked, giving himself a shiver as he said the name aloud. Professor Hale gave him a wry smile as he let out a sigh. Stiles didn’t know if he should be relieved or run away. Mister was his professor, the one that he had been lusting after. He’s seen his professor naked, talked to him about his feelings about being a Sub. Stiles looked to the floor.

“Come on, Stiles, let me buy you a coffee.” Stiles looked up at him and nodded his head, his eyes unable to look away as Derek put his hand on Stiles’ lower back, guiding him to the counter.

Stiles ordered a latte, while Derek ordered himself an Americano. They retook the couch, with Derek sitting on the end with his arm extended on the back of the couch, his leg crossed in a way that Stiles couldn’t help but look between his legs.

“I didn’t know it was you, and I have to apologize,” Derek said. Stiles felt like he couldn’t breathe, the air was so thick between them. Mister didn’t want him, Derek didn’t want him because he _couldn’t_. Stiles was his student and he couldn’t be his Dom. Stiles gut sank. “If I had known-”

“You couldn’t have known,” Stiles said, his voice stronger than he felt. “We didn’t say our names. Hell, I put my name was Scott on my profile.”

“You did,” Derek said with a smirk. “And me, well,” he shrugged. “How do you want to proceed?”

“What?” Stiles asked just as he was about to take a sip of his coffee.

“It’s up to you what happens next,” Derek said, looking at him in a way Stiles didn’t know was possible: Derek looked at him with care, like whatever Stiles’ decision was, he would be okay with it.

“Mister,” Stiles whispered as he licked his lips, scooting just a hair closer to him. “I want-”

Stiles didn’t know what he wanted, didn’t know how to say that he felt like he wanted a Dom, that he trusted Mister, trusted Derek. The pause in Stiles’ sentence had Derek’s hand come down to rest on Stiles’ shoulder from the back of the couch. Stiles leaned against the slight touch. He got goosebumps as Derek’s thumb moved across his shoulder. Instinctively, he moved his neck, dipping towards Derek’s hand. Derek’s breath hitched in his throat audibly as his thumb brushed across Stiles’ cheek.

“Okay,” Derek said, his voice low. Stiles’ body was throbbing, his skin on fire as Derek pulled his hand away. “Let’s take a walk.” Stiles stood up after Derek, following him out the door. At first, Stiles walked slightly behind Derek, but all it took was a look from him and he caught up to walk beside him. They walked away from campus, away from Stiles’ dorm, in silence.

“If it’s okay with you, I’m going to take you to my place,” Derek said, glancing over at Stiles to gauge his reaction. Stiles nodded. “There, we can talk about conditions, a contract, if this is what you want, what you _really_ want.”

“I do,” Stiles said. “I want it.” Derek gave Stiles a reassuring smile as they walked on.

Derek’s place was a townhome, and as they climbed the steps, Stiles could hear Jack and Sally barking from inside.

“They’re harmless.”

“I bet they’re well-trained,” Stiles said, the connotation not lost on Derek as he opened the door. Jack, a black lab, sat on his hind legs with two in the air, his head out waiting to be pet as Sally, a Dalmatian ran around Jack in circles.

“Okay, guys, back up,” Derek said, his voice stern. The dogs did as they were told. It made Stiles’ eyelids heavy, his mouth dry. He wanted Derek to use that same tone on him. Stiles petted Jack on the head, then Sally, who followed them into the kitchen, sniffing at Stiles as they walked. “You can take a seat,” Derek said as he motioned to the counter where there were two stools. Stiles sat as he watched Derek take off his messenger bag, then stand in the middle of his kitchen, his dogs by his feet while he had his hands on his hips.

“Sit,” he commanded. They did. Only then did he pet them. Stiles felt lightheaded at the thought.

“Okay, Stiles,” Derek said as he grabbed the stool next to Stiles, joining him in sitting. He sat there with one elbow on the counter, his head in his hand as he looked at Stiles. “Tell me what you want.” Stiles took his time, his eyes searching Derek’s, his professor, Mister. His breathing slowed as he thought about everything they talked about, about his paper, about all of the blogs he had gone through.

“I want you to dominate me,” Stiles said, looking at his hands.

“I’m up here,” Derek said, and Stiles’ gaze immediately met Derek’s. “Everything we talked about in that email, about your being unsure, about the trust you need to have, do you feel uncomfortable with giving yourself over to me?” Derek asked.

“I- yes,” Stiles said, his brow furrowed. “I trust you.”

“Why?” Derek asked as he tilted his head. It didn’t sound like a challenge, but as a genuine question of intrigue.

“Because in class you are so professional, you’re strict but not unkind, and in your email you were helpful and open and nothing like in class. When we chatted you opened up even more by telling me things and I did the same with you, and I don’t want to lose that.”

“If we do this, it doesn’t leave these walls,” Derek said, then. “A scene is what we make it. I don’t want you starting too intensely with this. I want you to be completely open with me about what you like and what you don’t.”

“Okay,” Stiles said, his leg bouncing uncontrollably against the rung on the stool.

“Do you want to do a scene today? Or would you rather have time to ready yourself?”

“Can we? A small... maybe a small one?” Stiles asked, unsure.

“If that is what you want,” Derek said as he stood.

“Is the contract- is it something we sign or is it verbal?”

“It’s what you want it to be. It’s my job to take care of you, for the trust to be there. Do you trust me to keep my word, or do you want it on paper?”

“Can we, after today, have it written? But today can we do it verbally?”

“If that makes you comfortable, I’d like something in writing myself, but more for my sake. No contract we write up would be legally binding. It’s formality, that we have written out what is to happen.”

“Oh,” Stiles said, nodding his head in understanding. “Okay.”

“What do you want to do today?” Derek asked as he walked into another room. Stiles followed him up the stairs. The house was very normal, with pictures on the walls, a den with a TV and a desk, bookshelves full. They passed a bedroom, with the door wide open, revealing Derek’s unmade bed and a pile of unfolded laundry. It was lived in, real. Stiles was in his home.

The spare bedroom is what he walked into. Stiles didn’t know what he expected, but a full out sex room was not it, based on the rest of the house. There was a sex swing hung up, as well as other things he couldn’t even begin to describe or guess what they were for. With his heart beating fast, Stiles leaned against the door frame.

“Everything okay?” Derek asked, stepping into Stiles’ personal space. Stiles nodded his head, his eyes searching the room. “It’s a little overwhelming, but I don’t usually do scenes anywhere else in the house. This is actually the master bedroom, it’s bigger, has a two person shower, a walk-in closet; is this too much?”

“No, I just-” Stiles gulped. “I don’t want to mess up.”

“You won’t,” Derek said, as he cupped Stiles’ cheek with his hand. “Let’s talk.”

“Okay.”

“What don’t you like?” Derek asked conversationally. Stiles knew he had to put everything out on the table now, or he couldn’t say anything later.

“I don’t like, I don’t want you to make me gag.”

“No problem,” Derek said comfortably as his hands slid up and down Stiles’ torso, learning his body. Stiles leaned into it, his eyes fluttering closed. “We don’t even have to do blow jobs, if that makes you more comfortable.” Stiles nodded his head, liking that idea. “What about everything else rough?”

“No spanking,” Stiles said as Derek’s thumb brushed over a nipple. “But, uh, biting is okay. Rough sex-”

“You want to have sex today?” Derek asked, backing one step away from him. Stiles snapped out of the trance he put himself in by being close to Derek.

“I- I - yes? Can we?” Derek didn’t answer, but looked Stiles over as if considering.

“Let’s take things slow,” Derek decided. Stiles understood why, he did, but that didn’t stop him from feeling disappointed. “Don’t worry, you’ll enjoy it.”

“I trust you,” Stiles said.

“What else,” Derek said as his hands returned to Stiles, fingers slipping beneath the fabric of Stiles’ hoodie and shirt.

“I want you to pin me down,” Stiles said, getting worked up as he thought about everything he wanted. “Open me up with your mouth-”

“Rimming?” Derek asked, his breath hot on Stiles’ skin. “What about a condom?”

“No,” Stiles said, his voice shaking. “I’m clean, I can get you paperwork if you want-”

“Next time,” Derek said, his thumb running over Stiles’ bottom lip. “We’ll make copies and put them with our contract.

“Do you- do you have another Sub?” Stiles asked. He had been afraid to ask. This wasn’t a relationship in the normal sense, Derek could have others. He just didn’t know if Derek did or not, at the moment.

“Just you,” Derek said with a smile. “How do you feel about orgasm delay?”

“I, uh, never really did anything with it?” Stiles said, unsure. “But that sounds like something I’d like.”

"I think today we'll have a short session, nothing too intense. How does that sound to you?" Derek asked him. Stiles nodded, his eyes not leaving Derek's. He realized that Derek liked eye contact, needed it to make sure that Stiles was okay with what they were doing. "You know about safewords?"

"Yes," Stiles said.

"Do colors work for you?" Derek asked as his hand slid beneath Stiles' shirt, fingers teasing at Stiles' happy trail. Stiles nodded as he bit his lip. "I need verbal replies from you when I ask a question."

"Yes, Sir," Stiles said as a shiver went down his spine. "Colors work for me."

"Call me 'Mister'," Derek whispered against Stiles' ear before he kissed just behind it. Stiles let out a groan, his hands reaching out for Derek.

But Derek's hands around his wrists stopped the movement. "None of that," Derek teased. "This is about you."

"What if that's what I want?" Stiles asked as Derek pulled Stiles closer to the mattress in the corner of the room.

"It's my job to know what's best for you," Derek said as he pulled Stiles' shirt over his head. "Color?"

"Green, Mister," Stiles said as the back of his knees hit the bed, making him fall back.

Derek straddled Stiles, his hands sliding up Stiles’s torso as his lips captured Stiles’. Stiles’ eyes fluttered closed as his mouth opened for Derek. It was short, just a taste and a slip of the tongue before Derek backed away. It left Stiles throbbing between his legs. He pushed himself up, searching for Derek’s lips once more before Derek pinned him to the bed, his hands held over his head, keeping him against the mattress. Stiles rutted against Derek, his erection rubbing against Derek’s ass as he sat on him, his hands in fists as he attempted to move.

“Color?”

“Green, Mister,” Stiles said, his voice distant in his own mind as Derek released his hold on Stiles’ hands.

“Stay there,” Derek said before he climbed off of him. Stiles whimpered at the loss of contact, but didn’t move. Derek knelt next to Stiles on the bed, his hands trailing over his body. He paused at Stiles' nipples, pinching them then caressing a thumb over them before his mouth found its way to them, giving both ample attention as his teeth raked across the sensitive flesh, his tongue soothing afterward. Stiles almost moved his hands, but decided to spread his legs instead.

Derek's hand slid down Stiles' torso, past the obvious bulge in his pants, down to his thigh where he hooked his hand around it, making Stiles spread his legs farther. He slipped his hand between Stiles' legs, finger expertly finding Stiles ass, digging in through the fabric. Stiles' back arched, his mouth open wide as his chest heaved. He wanted Derek, he wanted Mister.

Stiles was brought back to reality by another tweak of his nipple, along with a hand over his crotch, rubbing at his length through the fabric. The whine that Stiles let out was unbecoming, he knew, but he was close to begging. Stiles' eyes widened as he looked to Derek. He wondered if that was what Derek was waiting for as he teased.

"Please, Mister," Stiles managed to say without his voice shaking. Derek smiled down at him as he shifted on the bed, lying down beside Stiles as his hands roamed over his body. Derek leaned over, his mouth finding its way to Stiles' shoulder, his teeth blunt against Stiles' skin, but stung as he bit down. "Ah," Stiles let out as Derek's tongue soothed along the mark he left. Stiles rolled his hips into Derek's hand, wanting more friction. Derek nimbly undid Stiles' jeans with one hand, then slipped his hand beneath the fabric of Stiles' briefs, his hand wrapping around Stiles' cock. Stiles let out a sigh of relief as his fingers flexed at the feeling of Derek's hand on him.

Stiles was achingly hard as Derek smeared precome over the head of Stiles' cock before he began stroking him at an agonizing pace. Stiles worried at his bottom lip as he watched, unable to look away from Derek's hand. He leaned into Derek's touch as he ran fingers through Stiles' hair, his mouth on Stiles' neck as he sucked and laved at him. Derek was marking him up, and Stiles didn't know how long he would last.

He jerked his hips, wanting to come. As if he knew, Derek took his thumb and index finger and wrapped it around Stiles’ balls and the base of his cock. The pressure had Stiles squirming, unable to reach release. Derek shoved Stiles' jeans down his thighs so he had better access to them, along with his briefs that were wet with precome.

"Ah, fuck, please," he begged as Derek's teeth left their mark around his nipple. The mixture of teeth and tongue had Stiles reeling as his cock throbbed, an angry red at wanting to climax.

"Color?" Derek asked as he looked Stiles in the eye. Stiles almost moved his hands, moving them an inch above the mattress, but he put them back in their place.

"Green," Stiles rasped, but he couldn't stop himself from bucking up into Derek's fist, his voice shaking. It felt good to know that Derek was in control, had control of his climax. Stiles shut his eyes as a finger teased between his cheeks.

"You're doing so well," Derek said as he fondled Stiles' balls, caressing them as they hung heavy between his legs. Stiles preened under the sound of Derek's approval of him. "I know you want to come, but can you hold on a little longer?"

"Yes, Mister," Stiles found himself saying, though he felt as though he wasn't really the one saying the words. He let out a sigh, his body relaxing under Derek's touch. Derek kissed Stiles lightly on the lips, chastely, before his biting mouth found its way to Stiles' pelvic bone. Stiles yelped at the feeling, but found himself fucking upwards as Derek's tongue eased the pain of the mark.

Stiles shuddered as he felt Derek's warm tongue over the head of his cock. They talked about him not being gagged, but they hadn't talked about if Derek liked it, or wanted it. Derek's mouth didn't remain on him, though. It was one fleeting lick, just a taste, before he began stroking Stiles once more, releasing his hold on his balls. Stiles felt his climax rush out of him as his entire body seized. He felt it deep within him in a rush. Never in his life had he experienced such a violently blissful climax.

Stiles' chest and stomach were covered in ropes of come as he lay there, his chest heaving. He felt the loss of Derek’s touch as he got off the bed. He wanted to move, but Derek hadn’t told him he could. Overwhelmed, Stiles lay there silently as he controlled his breathing. It was good, so good, but he wanted to be touched, he needed the contact. He jumped when he felt Derek’s hand on his cheek, his eyes opening wide.

“I’m right here, Stiles,” Derek soothed as Stiles felt a warm cloth on his skin. Derek was cleaning him up. “I’m here.” Stiles didn’t realize until he blinked that his eyes were watering. “Next time I’ll have a cloth with me.”

“What’s- why am I upset?” He asked as Derek took Stiles’ hands in his own, their fingers linking as Derek slowly moved Stiles’ arms. They felt heavy, not his own as Derek held them in the air for a moment before he moved them to Stiles’ side.

“You’re crashing, it happens sometimes, but I’m here.”

“That’s never happened after I’ve come before,” Stiles said, confused. “I read about it,” he said. “But I don’t understand-”

“It’s not something to understand, we just know now that you need contact afterward, I won’t let it happen again.” Stiles’ fingers moved against Derek’s as he sat beside him, his thigh pressed against Stiles’ side. It felt good, having Derek next to him.

“What about you?” Stiles asked.

“I’m fine, Stiles, that was about you. You did good.” Warmth spread through Stiles’ body at Derek’s words. “I’m going to write up a contract for us, and I’m going to send you home with some things.”

“Things?” Stiles asked. He was feeling better already, more relaxed. Derek nodded at him.

“A douche kit, for one,” Derek said, even though it made Stiles redden. “For next time. Then, I think I am going to give you a plug. I want you to use it.” Stiles’ chest constricted at the thought of using a toy of Derek’s. “How does that sound?”

“Fun,” Stiles admitted.

“Next session, I want you to bring that paperwork,” Derek said, his voice serious. “Okay?”

“Yes, Mister,” Stiles said with a smile. Derek kissed him again, this time lingering long enough that it took Stiles’ breath away as their mouths opened to each other.

Stiles dressed in a blur. Derek gave him a water bottle, then drove him back to campus so that he didn’t have to walk all the way there. With another chaste kiss on the lips, Stiles got out of the car.

Scott was out, over at Allison’s more than likely, so Stiles had their room to himself. He pulled the plug out of the bag Derek leant him, looking it over. Stiles knew how big Derek was, knew that Derek gave him the plug for a reason, to make sure he was ready for him. It made Stiles hard thinking about it.

He didn’t waste any time before he texted Scott to let him know when he was on his way back. After stripping down, Stiles climbed into his bed with his lube and the plug, using his fingers first to spread lube around and finger himself. He attempted to push the plug in, but it wouldn’t go. Frustrated, Stiles groaned. He laid a towel down underneath him so he wouldn’t ruin his freshly cleaned sheets.

Stiles needed to stretch himself more. He himself had a limited supply of toys, unlike Derek’s room of them. In the bottom of Stiles’ sock drawer was his vibrator. It was slim, but would get him worked up enough to hopefully get the plug in. As he turned it on, Stiles moaned. The feel of it inside him, with his legs hung in the air, Stiles worked himself open. Normally, he’d jack off along with it, but this wasn’t about coming, this was about getting ready.

When he was able to awkwardly shove three fingers in, he decided to give the plug another chance. He got on his knees, ass in the air, and pressed it in. It made him feel full as it pressed against his prostate. Stiles gasped as it sunk in place, his legs spread as he finally wrapped a hand around his cock. He thought about Derek, his hands on Stiles’ body, about the marks.

Awkwardly, Stiles stood up. On the back of their door was a body length mirror, and Stiles wanted to see, needed to see the marks that Derek left on him. Mouth-shaped bruises lined his collarbone. The skin around his nipple was red and purple, blood rushing to the surface, as well as at the dip in his pelvic bone. Stiles’ fingers traced them as he looked over his body, admiring them.

Then, he turned around. The plug had him spread open as his cock stood at attention. Stiles thought twice before grabbing his phone and snapping a picture. He thought about how he had just gotten Derek’s number, that he had given it to him right before dropping Stiles off. He thought about how their first text would be a dirty picture, about Derek’s reaction. Stiles snapped the picture then hit send before he had time to really think about the consequences.

‘It looks so good in you,’ Derek texted back moments later. Stiles beamed at the response. He looked at the floor in front of the mirror, and decided he needed to show Derek a better angle. It took finagling, and a weird angle, but Stiles managed to snap a good picture of him on his knees, showing off the plug. After he sent it, he jacked off, his pace quick.

‘If you’re good and do everything I asked, we can do a scene tomorrow,’ Derek sent him. Stiles came as he read it.

‘Please.’

‘If you’re good,’ Derek replied quickly.

‘I am,’ Stiles typed as he sat there on his knees, come on the carpet beneath him. He’d have to scrub it out. Stiles jumped when the phone rang.

“Hello,” Stiles said, surprised at how normal his voice sounded considering he had just come and he had a plug in his ass.

“How good are you going to be?” Derek asked, his voice lower than normal. Stiles licked his lips.

“So good,” Stiles found himself saying. He’d be embarrassed if he wasn’t so turned on.

“How are you feeling?” Derek asked.

“Full,” Stiles said, meaning the plug. He was so full from it but all he could think about was Derek and his cock. He wished he was with him, he wanted to have Derek’s hands on him again.

“Good,” Derek said. “But about being away from me.”

“Oh,” Stiles said, standing slowly. “I’m- I’m okay.” Walking was awkward, it pushed against his prostate and had him moaning. “When tomorrow?”

“I’ll come get you at noon. We’ll go have lunch first.”

“Okay,” Stiles said, glad Derek was making the decisions. It put less stress on him, knowing that he could trust Derek.

“I want you to shower tomorrow morning, clean yourself, then come to lunch wearing the plug. Can you do that for me?” Stiles’ mouth dried at the implication of him wearing it out in public, to lunch with Derek. “Stiles?”

“Green,” Stiles said automatically. “I mean, yes, Mister, I can do that.”

“Okay. I will see you tomorrow. Don’t forget your paperwork.”

“I won’t,” Stiles assured him.

Stiles cleaned up, put the toy away, and was playing Skyrim when Scott texted that he was on his way back. They went to the dining hall together for dinner, then went to a movie with their friends. It was weird, and yet not, being around his friends as if nothing had happened. Just like Derek had said, what happened at Derek’s was only at Derek’s. The scene was the scene, and Stiles’ life wasn’t just him on his knees, or Derek’s touch keeping him in place. He was Stiles, he had friends, he had his life, but he also had their sessions. When Stiles went to bed that night, all he could think about was the next session.

Stiles read the box three times before using it. It was awkward, but if they were to have sex without protection, if Derek was going to rim him, then it had to be done. Putting the plug in in the shower was harder than Stiles had expected. He couldn’t do it in their room, because Scott was in there. He had to be quiet as possible in the shower stall, which was hard in of itself as Stiles was a loud moaner. With a towel wrapped around his waist, he tossed the packaging and trash into the waste basket.

When he changed in their room, he made sure to do it so his ass wasn’t facing Scott. He whimpered as he bent over, though, which got him a weird look but Scott didn’t mention anything to Stiles. He found the best way to sit was to actually lie down, with his legs spread slightly. Crossing his ankles was impossible, because it put too much pressure on his prostate and made him hard. He had to constantly be thinking about his breathing, about how he couldn’t jack off, in order to keep himself under control.

By the time Derek picked him up, Stiles was ready to burst. With his blood work papers in hand, Stiles got into Derek’s car.

“How are you?” Derek asked simply.

“Ready,” Stiles said, his hand reaching out for Derek’s. Derek put his in Stiles, their fingers linking together momentarily before he had to use it to drive stick.

“Let’s go eat, then.”

Stiles squirmed in his seat at the restaurant, unable to sit comfortably. He was hard, due to Derek’s foot resting against his own under the table. It was a simple gesture but had his body on fire as they shared a pizza.

Derek didn’t mention the plug the entire lunch, not until they were in his townhome, the door shutting behind them. Normally, Stiles would push someone against a door, or press his body against them as they made out, but this was not normally. This was Derek, Mister. This was a scene where Derek held the reins.

On the kitchen counter was the contract Derek had written up, along with his own paperwork. Stiles added his to the pile then read the contract. Derek had sections on what Stiles didn’t like, about aftercare, about what Derek didn’t like. It was pages long, and Stiles couldn’t help but wonder if he had a template for writing these. Derek waited patiently for Stiles to read through everything. When he was done, he signed his name. Only then, did Derek go behind after and add his signature.

“Are you ready?” Derek asked, his hand on the back of Stiles’ neck. Stiles nodded as he looked up at Derek from the stool he sat on.

“Yes, Mister,” he said.

They walked upstairs together, leaving Jack and Sally downstairs in the living room, and into the master bedroom. Stiles looked around, wondering what Derek was going to use on him, do to him, but as Derek put his hands on Stiles, he knew that he didn’t need to worry about that. Derek was going to take care of him.

“I want you to get undressed and get on your knees for me,” Derek said before placing a kiss at the base of Stiles’ neck. Stiles did as Derek asked, stripping for him. He heard Derek make a noise as he bent over, stepping out of his jeans, showing Derek the plug.

“On the bed,” Derek urged him. Stiles complied willingly, face down on the mattress, ass in the air with his legs spread, his cock hanging down between his legs, limp. Stiles jolted as Derek tapped the plug, making Stiles see stars as he shut his eyes. He moaned, his toes curling at the feeling as Derek’s hand smoothed across his lower back. Derek twisted the plug within him, making Stiles’ back arch.

“Keep your cheek on the mattress,” Derek ordered.

“Yes, Mister,” Stiles said as he pulled his hands up towards his body, holding them close to his chest as he waited for Derek to make a move. He couldn’t see what was going on, knew he couldn’t move. Stiles shivered as he felt Derek’s mouth against his cheek, his teeth as he bit down. He wondered if he could touch himself or not, he hadn’t asked. “Can I-?”

“Not until I say,” Derek murmured against his skin, lips pressed against him. “Color?”

“Green, Mister,” Stiles mumbled, his legs spreading ever so slightly in anticipation. Derek had one hand on Stiles’ lower back, while the other gripped the plug, pulling it out slowly. Stiles thought he would take it out all the way, would replace it with his fingers or his mouth, but instead of doing that, Derek shoved it back in, twisting and opening Stiles up more with it. Stiles let out a litany of noises as Derek fucked him shallowly with the toy. “Please,” Stiles begged. Derek stilled.

“Color?”

“Green, green, green,” Stiles said as the toy rubbed merciously against his prostate.

“Green, what?” Derek asked. Stiles gulped as he tried to think.

“Green, Mister.”

Derek took the plug out, leaving Stiles feeling empty. Fingers spread him open, lubed and slick, then entered him. It felt good, so good that he yelped when he felt the warmth of Derek’s mouth on him, his tongue probing him. With a mixture of his mouth and his fingers, Derek worked at him. Stiles was a mess, his eyes shut and mouth open as Derek ate him out. As Derek crooked a finger within him, Stiles pushed back on him, about to sit up.

“Don’t move your head,” Derek reminded him. Stiles reached out with his hands to either side of him, and gripped the sheets with his fists, bracing himself. He wanted to jack off, his cock heavy and hard between his legs, but he refrained. As if he knew, Derek teased at Stiles’ head, his fingers massaging the tip of Stiles’ cock, slicking it up with lube before his hands returned to Stiles’ ass.

“Please, Der- Mister, please fuck me,” Stiles sobbed. It felt so good, what Derek was doing to him, but he wasn’t sure he could take much more teasing.

“Just a little more,” Derek said as he used three fingers on Stiles, fucking him with them. “Color?”

“Green,” Stiles said with a sharp intake of breath. “Mister.”

“Good,” Derek said as he pulled away, leaving Stiles unsure of the next move. When Derek gripped his hips with his hands, though, he knew. Stiles let out a sigh of relief as Derek bottomed out within him, sliding in without issue. Stiles pressed back with his hips, meeting him there. Derek stilled Stiles’ movements by holding on tight to his hips as he began moving.

With the pace relentless, the sound of sex filled the room, of skin slapping against skin along with Stiles’ moans adding to the constant sounds. Derek’s hands on him kept Stiles in place as he fucked him. Stiles pulled his hands back towards himself, unable to do much of anything else. When Derek pressed Stiles farther into the mattress, making him lie flat, Stiles moved without a fight. Derek had Stiles pinned down, an arm over Stiles’ back as he thrust his hips against Stiles. He slipped his arm underneath Stiles, holding him closer as his mouth marked his shoulder. Stiles, with Derek’s arm right in front of him, couldn’t keep himself from licking, from putting his mouth on him after not being able to do anything to Derek at all.

Derek didn’t deny him, but bit down on Stiles’ shoulder as he fucked him harder. With Stiles’ erection trapped against the sheets and himself, Stiles was helpless to do anything about it. As Derek got closer to his climax, he pulled out, making Stiles groan at the lack of him. He wanted to be full, wanted Derek to come inside him.

Instead, Derek took Stiles’ cheeks between his hands, pressing them together as he slid his cock between them. Stiles’ eyes rolled back into his head as Derek thrust through them until he came, hot and sticky, onto Stiles’ back. Stiles sat there, body numb, mind foggy as Derek leaned over and licked up his back, cleaning him. Stiles whimpered as Derek turned him over, his hands flailing about as he attempted to keep his face against the mattress.

“It’s okay,” Derek murmured, his hands cupping Stiles’ face. Stiles, eyes wide, opened his mouth for Derek as he kissed him. He could taste Derek’s come on his lips, on his tongue as they kissed. Derek reached down and stroked Stiles’ neglected cock, making Stiles come almost immediately at his touch.

When he was done, Derek licked his hand clean, too, then kissed Stiles again. Stiles moaned at the taste of himself on Derek’s tongue. Afterwards, Derek had his hands on Stiles’ body, running his fingers delicately over him as Stiles lay there. After a while, Stiles turned his head towards Derek, their eyes meeting.

“How’d I do that time?” Stiles asked.

“You were perfect,” Derek assured him. Stiles smiled, his eyelids heavy. Derek stayed with him, his arms wrapped around him until he fell asleep. When Stiles woke up, he was covered in a blanket that smelled of Derek. Stiles recognized it as the one that Derek had in his own room. He was alone, but he knew Derek wouldn’t have gone far. Stiles burrowed deeper within the blanket, then winced at how sore his body was. He groaned as he tried to stretch.

Derek padded into the room, wearing loose fitting sweat pants, holding a shake. Stiles sat up, his brow furrowed as he looked at it.

“Protein shake, it will help.” It wasn’t until that moment that Stiles realized just how hungry he was. Derek sat as he handed Stiles the shake, watching him as he gulped it down. When he was done, Derek set the glass down on the table nearby, then turned his attention back to Stiles. “How did you- did you want to continue being with me? Doing more scenes?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said, reaching out for Derek’s hand. “I really like you, how you treat me, and I want to do more with you.” Derek smiled at him, then kissed his forehead. Stiles knew that they were just beginning, that Derek would push his limits, but he trusted him. He knew that if he was with Derek, he was in safe hands.

After Stiles got dressed, they watched a movie curled up on the couch. Derek explained that it was part of the aftercare, about keeping contact. They ordered in Chinese, then watched more TV as they made out on the couch. Stiles got to touch, got to feel Derek for the first time, running his hands over him, letting them roam unlike when they were in a scene. It felt good.

When Derek dropped him off at his dorm, Stiles thought he’d feel empty, or have another drop, but he didn’t as he opened the door to find his best friend there waiting for him with a smile on his face. Stiles reminded himself that his time with Derek was his time with Derek, and when he was with Scott, he was just Stiles. He could do this, be Derek’s Sub.

At class on Tuesday, Stiles sat in his normal seat. When Professor Hale called roll call, Stiles raised his hand like normal, answered questions as instructed. When Professor Hale talked about their term papers, though, Stiles smirked to himself because he knew he was going to ace it.

**Author's Note:**

> * i didn't tag this as safe, sane consensual because i feel like a relationship like this would take more time to come about, but i was under wc constraints and didn't want this to be a massive fic.


End file.
